


Yield

by unremarkablegirl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Sparring, Swordfighting, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unremarkablegirl/pseuds/unremarkablegirl
Summary: A Linctavia sparring fic, that's it
Relationships: Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Kudos: 16
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Yield

**Author's Note:**

  * For [munequita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/munequita/gifts).



> Written for The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative for 1munequita

It’s a rare day off for them, no work for Lincoln, no training for Octavia. It’s just the two of them. 

They’re in the clearing just outside of their cave, the sun dappling shadows of leaves and branches across the forest floor and their bodies. Lincoln’s chest is bare, and Octavia is stripped down to her bra. Both of them are sweaty, but only Octavia is breathing hard. 

They’re circling each other, Octavia holding her dual short blades, Lincoln with his longsword. Lincoln meanders, slow and steady, dark eyes focused on Octavia’s torso, looking for the first indication of her next twisting move. Octavia stalks, one foot crossing over the other, wild eyes focused on Lincoln’s legs, waiting for his next lunge. 

She knows he is giving her time, letting her regain her breath. It used to bother her, when they first began. She had thought him pandering to her, belittling her. She knows better now. Knows he is taking the long route in building up her stamina, knows this is a reflection of his love. 

Now, her lips curl up in a little smirk, readying herself to push at his patience, “C’mon Linc, that the best you got?”

He huffs out a little laugh, “You that eager to get pinned again?”

Her smirk grows, he makes it so easy, “By you? Always.”

His eyes flicker, still not used to her teasing him this way. She takes the advantage, already spinning, already building up momentum.

One arm goes up, sword cutting downwards, Lincoln catches it on his own blade, wrist twisting, angling the blade down along the length of his body. He catches her second blade along his blade tip as it came down on his weaker flank. 

There’s barely a seconds pause, their eyes meeting before tearing away. Octavia is stepping back, removing the lower blade, readying to strike again whilst Lincoln is still tied up with the first. Lincoln is faster.

He twists his blade, catches the one tangled in it on his guard. An upward thrust and the short blade is ripped from Octavia’s grasp. She doesn’t gasp, doesn’t take the time to react other than a brief look to find its landing place. He’s proud of her for that. 

She doesn’t dive for it like he expects. She, instead, takes advantage of his raised arm, shifts her grip on the blade she has left and strikes upward. He cannot lower his sword fast enough, knows that moving his arm would only add strength to the blow. It’s already too late. 

The flat of her blade catches him on the wrist, it weakens his hold, she doesn’t stop there, moving to hold her own blade with both hands to add force as she twists her sword up and under his. She pulls it away from him, forcing his arm to bend awkwardly, the sword drops from his grasp. It’s only been ten seconds. He is incredibly proud of her. 

Her blade is level with his sternum, her voice steady, “Yield.”

He can’t help but smile at how tiny she is, her sword unable to reach his neck, her head tilted up to look him in the eye. He stares back, opens his mouth as if to speak, twists away instead, arms already reaching out. 

He takes inspiration from her previous moves, grabs her by the wrist and twists until she releases the sword with a gasp. He is still moving, forcing her back, away from the fallen swords, readying himself to lunge. 

She surprises him, again. Lightning fast, her leg kicks out, hitting him in the knee, weakening his stance. He adjusts, drags her down with him, it devolves from there. They roll around in the grass, grappling, twisting, and, once, biting. 

They come to a stop with Octavia on top, both of Lincoln’s wrists pinned beneath her knees, her body weight settled at the top of his thighs, immobilizing his hips and stopping him from being able to use his legs well. 

Her hands are braced on his torso, a smirk on her lips as she leans over him. He gazes up at her, her hair is wild and her face is sweaty. The shadows of the leaves dance across her face. She is beautiful. 

She looms over him, “Yield.”

This time, he doesn’t bother pretending to speak. His feet plant themselves on the ground as he thrusts up, jostling her body just enough to give him the space needed to twist his hips and topple her off of him. He’s up, and then over her, body between her thighs, and her wrists caught in his grasp over her head. 

He smirks, “Yield.”

She glares up at him, bucks her hips. He does not move. They stare at each other, five seconds, then ten, until the seconds stretch out into minutes. Still, she does not speak. He does not ask again. 

Her glare morphs into a pout, “I yield.”

He chuckles, letting go of her wrists but not moving from his place between her thighs. His hands settle on her waist as he speaks, “You're getting better, trickier, it’s becoming second nature to you, to keep moving, to think on your feet and execute.” 

There’s a blush on Octavia’s cheeks, but her smile is wide when she thanks him and a giggle in her voice when she next speaks, “So, since you so clearly won, and since I’ve apparently improved in leaps and bounds, don’t you think we both deserve a little reward?” 

Lincoln’s smile is wide as he captures her wrists and brings them up to his mouth. He presses a kiss, featherlight to her still rapid pulse before pressing them down on either side of head as he leans in to claim his prize.

**Author's Note:**

> (is it obvious that i don't know much about sword fighting?)  
> you can come prompt me on [tumblr](https://unremarkablegirl.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
